Let's dance

When I was a little girl, my mother decided I should be a dancer. She drove me over to the local dance school and signed me up for ballet and tap classes, convinced that I was going to be a star. I should mention that around this time, "White Nights" was her favorite movie. She had the teensiest crush on Mikhail Baryshnikov, hence, her newfound passion for ballet.

Like most little girls, I'd entertained thoughts of being a ballerina. The leotards, the tutus, those cute little shoes with the ribbons. I remember being disappointed when my mother took me shopping for my ballet shoes. I wanted the pointed ones that laced up my legs like the real dancers wore. I hated the soft-soled pink slip-ons she bought and I never did get to wear a tutu.

Every Tuesday night, I'd take my position at the bar with the other little girls and we'd practice the five basic positions. When I think back on it, this was really all we ever did. After a while, we'd all get bored and run around, practicing our own version of ballet, which usually meant us hopping around with our arms in the air. The teachers never tried to stop us. Apparently, the study of ballet doesn't teach one how to deal with a room full of unruly five-year-olds.

After a half an hour or so of that, we'd head down the hall for tap class. (What can I say, she really liked Gregory Hines in that movie too.) I wasn't much better at tap than I was at ballet but there was one thing that made it bearable: the shoes. I loved my tap shoes, black patent leather so shiny I could see myself in them. And I loved the sound they made, that clack-clacking against the hardwood floors. I used to wear them home and walk all over the house in them, driving my mother crazy.

Eventually, I lost interest and stopped going. It turns out I wasn't meant to be a ballerina after all, nor was I going to be tap-tapping my way onto Broadway anytime soon. It wasn't until I got older that I realized that I possess no natural rhythm whatsoever. I was in college before I realized that I look like this when I dance. Sadly, my friends were apparently too embarrassed or bitchy to tell me.

Despite the fact that I move like a spastic chicken, I still love to dance, although I usually only do it when I'm home. Alone. With the blinds drawn. There's something so completely freeing in just letting your body move however it will. There are certain songs, that when I hear them, I have to move, no matter how silly I look. Dancing in itself is a particular kind of joy and it's not one I ever intend to give up. I plan to still be shaking it when I'm 80, artifical hip be damned.

So tell me, what makes you want to get up and dance?